Children of Time, Ep 5: The Icarus Experiment
by Wholmes Productions
Summary: How much risk is there in travelling inside your own timeline? Holmes and Watson visit the States in their recent past, and meet an eccentric inventor with a radical new machine... Standalone / sequel to 'The Manhattan Conspiracy'.
1. Tesla

**==Chapter 1: Tesla==**

"_The egg of science is laid in the nest of solitude."_

– Nikola Tesla

"So!" The Doctor shot his Companions a manic grin, merrily flipping switches as they lurched onwards through the Vortex. "We've been to the past, we've been to the future... Now what do you boys wanna see?"

Watson pursed his lips as he considered. "Well, in that case, what about somewhere more contemporary? Unless..." His brow furrowed as a sudden thought struck him: "How much risk is there in travelling within our own personal timelines, Doctor?"

"Well, quite a lot of risk if you're in the same area as your past or future self," the Doctor explained, still moving around the console. "You could rip a big enough hole in the fabric of Reality to let the Reapers in, and believe me, you don't ever want to see that lot. But..." He held up a finger. "But... if you go somewhere where you know you weren't at the time, or probably wouldn't be in the future... tha's pretty safe."

Watson decided that, on this occasion, he was better off not knowing who the Reapers were – he'd had enough of hostile aliens for one week, thank you – and nodded at Holmes. "What say you, old fellow? It must be your turn to choose this time, anyhow."

Holmes hummed thoughtfully. "I must confess, there is a certain one of our scientific colleagues whose work has intrigued me for some time. Watson, do you remember all the fuss two years back over the World Exposition in Chicago?"

"Not very well." Watson frowned as he cast his mind back. The tail end of '93... "I do recall reading something of it in the papers, but..." The doctor fell silent as he remembered why he hadn't paid much attention to foreign affairs – he and his wife had been rather preoccupied with more domestic matters... Mary had been how many months pregnant...? Watson looked awkwardly down at the floor, trying to resist the sudden, powerful impulse to ask for what he was certain the Doctor would not allow, then forced himself to look up again and meet the concerned gazes of his companions. "You'd like to go there?" he asked as lightly as he could manage.

To his relief, Holmes merely gave him a faint smile of sympathy before responding, "No, but the man I was referring to was largely responsible for the success of the event: Nikola Tesla. He's a physicist and inventor, considered quite the genius in his own fields of study – although he does have a somewhat... eccentric reputation."

Watson couldn't quite suppress a grin at what sounded like an extremely apt description of Holmes. He glanced curiously over at the Doctor, wondering if the Time Lord had ever met this Tesla fellow.

"Oh, I like eccentric geniuses – and I like Tesla, even if I haven't gotten around to meeting him yet," the Doctor smiled. "So, Holmes, you want to meet him. Prefer a specific time?"

Holmes closed his eyes a moment. "Well, last March Watson and I were both away up in Scotland, resolving a diplomatic issue for the Earl of Lansbury."

"Yes..." Watson shivered at the memory, "and a colder Spring I don't recall. That's what you get for wishing your friend would be given an interesting case for his birthday!" Although 'harrowing' might have been a better term...

Holmes smirked. "And Mycroft came through in fine style. The point I am trying to make, however, is that the affair never made the papers, so if we should meet anyone who knows who we are in America..."

The Doctor beamed. "March, 1895 – brilliant! Bundle up, then!" as he bent to the controls once more. "Can't imagine the States will be much warmer than Britain at that time of year..."

Holmes and Watson exchanged rueful grins, both reaching for their coats before taking hold of the railing.

* * *

The first thing that struck Holmes as they stepped outside was the cold – true to the Doctor's predictions, New York State was just as frigid as Scotland had been – but the temperature was forgotten next instant as the distant roar of thundering water filled his ears, a sound he hadn't heard in four long years...

_...Moriarty's enraged snarl as he tightened his grip on the detective's neck... the scream of terror when the Professor's foot came down on empty air... Watson shouting Holmes' name over and over, voice filling with anguish as his frantic calls received no answer..._

"Ah, Niagara!" Holmes was profoundly thankful when Doctor's delighted voice broke in on his thoughts. "Bustling place in the 25th century – got a city built across and... around..." then trailed off, obviously just realising why both of his Companions had remained silent. "Sorry. Didn't mean to babble."

Holmes shook himself, then turned to Watson and gently nudged the pallid, frozen doctor's arm with his elbow. He felt a sharp pang of remorse as Watson abruptly came back to the present, looking deeply shaken. Holmes laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder, letting his expression convey his heartfelt apology – after two years, he still hadn't managed to find the right words... A ghost of a smile was Watson's only response.

Holmes cleared his throat awkwardly and turned to the Doctor. "Shall we?" He nodded towards the power station a few hundred yards to the west along the northern lake shore.

"Ah, right, yes." The Doctor strode ahead, giving Watson an apologetic glance of his own as he passed. "This'll be brilliant. The first large-scale, AC electric generating plant in the world. Exciting stuff happening in science right now for you lot..."

Holmes nodded, trying not to grin too widely in his excitement, but his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. Strange it was, yet also heartening, that having seen where all these early advances in technology would eventually lead hadn't jaded him in the least; in fact, that knowledge was only increasing his satisfaction at having the chance to watch a fellow human realise their vision of a brighter future.

* * *

The power station was impressive. Early technological advances had always fascinated the Doctor, no matter the race—it was just thrilling to watch it happen. They entered the building to find the generator still under construction, an enormous, squat metal drum on a pedestal with a scaffold like a bridge running over it. Yup, definitely impressive stuff.

And no less impressive was the fair-haired, powerfully built man overseeing the construction, none other than George Westinghouse. Inventor, pioneer in the electrical industry, and rival of Thomas Edison's.

Westinghouse turned as they entered, and approached them with a powerful, springy stride. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said pleasantly. "I don't believe we've met." He extended a hand to the Doctor, smiling. "George Westinghouse, at your service."

The Doctor smiled back, liking the man already, and shook his hand. "Hello, pleasure to meet you, Mr. Westinghouse. I'm Dr. John Smith, and these are my associates." He nodded at his Companions.

"The pleasure is mine, Dr. Smith." Westinghouse proceeded to shake hands with Holmes and Watson, thankfully not recognising them at all. "Are you here to see the new generator? It's still under construction, I'm afraid, but you're welcome to come back for the test on Thursday."

"We would be honoured, sir," said Holmes, eyes bright. "Your associate, Mr. Nikola Tesla, is also participating in this endeavour, is he not?"

Westinghouse nodded, his smile now a bit strained. "Indeed, sir." He studied them in open curiosity—Tesla might be the genius of this outfit, but Westinghouse was a damned good inventor in his own right and he possessed all the inquisitiveness that came with the territory. "Are you friends of his?"

The Doctor opened his mouth, but Watson spoke first. "We are not, but we've come a long way to meet him."

"We were hoping to see him in action," the Doctor added. "Is everything all right?" Knowing the tendency of all three of them to attract trouble... probably not.

Westinghouse frowned beneath his walrus moustache, clearly concerned. "I wish I knew... the poor fellow's been terribly depressed ever since his New York lab was destroyed in that fire last month—not that I blame him. That was almost his entire life's work gone up in smoke! If," he said grimly, "I ever find out that that was more than just an accident..."

Holmes's ears pricked up, but he held his peace.

"That's the main reason I invited him to come across state," Westinghouse continued. "I'd hoped that helping to oversee proceedings here might help to take his mind off his losses—which it seemed to, for a while... but now..." He shook his head. "I mean, I'm used to him working all hours of the day and night—once the man gets a bee in his bonnet, there's no holding him until he either finishes or collapses from forgetting to eat or sleep! But even when he's in the grip of a project, one can usually still approach him. He's been shut up in his new workshop for the last three days now—won't open the door to anyone, not even me!"

Both doctors frowned. "It certainly does not sound healthy," said Watson.

"Not healthy at all," said the Doctor. To Westinghouse: "Would you mind if I tried to see him? I've got something of a talent for getting around barriers."

Westinghouse hesitated—not only was he concerned about his star scientist, he was also protective. "Well, you can try," he said after a moment. "He won't thank you for breaking his door down, though, and I doubt you'll get in any other way." He shrugged in resignation, his expression lightening. "Oh well, if you must... let me know if he needs anything, won't you? We can finish the generator without him if it comes to that—I just don't want the stubborn idiot risking his health, whatever he's working on."

The Doctor nodded in sympathy—it was never easy to watch a friend work himself into the ground. (Of course, _he_ was usually that friend, but that was beside the point.) "Don't worry, Mr. Westinghouse—I'm sure everything will be all right." He looked around, squinting, realising that he'd been about to walk off without knowing where to go. "Mind pointing us in the right direction?"

Westinghouse pointed north. "Just up on 12th Street there—you can't miss it."

* * *

Two minutes' brisk walk brought them to the front door of what must have once been some kind of storehouse. Holmes could hear various odd noises sounding faintly from within: rhythmic tapping, bangs and clatters, mostly of a metallic nature.

The Doctor rapped lightly on the door. "Mr. Tesla? Hallooo! Mr. Tesla, my friends and I have come a long way to meet you!" There was no response, the tinkering noises continuing unabated – although a few moments later there was a slightly louder clatter, followed by a mercifully indistinct epithet, delivered in an unmistakeably Austrian accent.

Holmes frowned. "Well, he's definitely in, and still upright, from the sound of things."

"And sounding like _you_ in the midst of an experiment, Holmes, barring the accent," Watson murmured.

Holmes pointedly ignored the less-than-subtle dig, and turned to the Doctor, nodding invitingly. "The floor is yours, Doctor – or the door, I should say."

The Doctor smirked and nodded back, retrieving the sonic. The door's lock soon released with a click, and the three Companions entered the building, looking around with interest. "Niiice," the Doctor said quietly, a smile creeping over his face. "Mind you, I don't often enter Victorian science labs, so this is a treat."

Holmes was equally taken by their surroundings. The long space was divided in half, and this room's walls were crowded with shelves; these in turn were filled with a wide array of tools, components and odd bits of machinery. A handful of completed machines stood around the room, whose function the detective could only guess at. Nikola Tesla had arrived less than a month ago, and already it looked as if he'd been here a year – the man's drive and industry were most impressive.

Tesla himself was bent over a workbench in the centre of the room, apparently oblivious to their entrance. Holmes couldn't tell much about the man's appearance from here – only that he was thin as a rake, with an unusually high forehead beneath his uncombed black hair, and wearing clothes that obviously had not been changed for several days.

The Doctor returned the sonic to his pocket and withdrew the psychic paper instead, strolling slowly towards the scientist. "Hullo? Mr. Tesla?"

Nikola Tesla's head snapped up, staring at the new arrivals. "What in the world...?" He reached up and removed what appeared to be a jeweller's glass from his right eye, looking extremely annoyed at the intrusion. "Who the devil are you three? How did you get in?" The voice was strangely high pitched, Holmes noted curiously, almost a falsetto. Not waiting for a response, Tesla advanced imperiously on the trio, making shooing motions with his hands. "How dare you come barging in here! This is private property – take yourselves off this instant!"

The Doctor held his ground, grinning slightly; behind him, Watson took a step back, then stopped, looking faintly amused. Holmes didn't need to be a detective to understand why – and he was still feeling rather annoyed that Watson could think there was any discernible resemblance between him and Tesla... "Mr. Tesla, please!" the Doctor said soothingly. "We're... here on business!" He held up the psychic paper.

Holmes wondered briefly if the paper would show Tesla anything at all, since it had appeared blank to Shakespeare – but no, the physicist was actually reading it. "The Bryant Electric Company?" Tesla blew air through his nose, looking only slightly less put out. "If you're looking for Mr. Westinghouse, you'll probably find him at the power station." He nodded in the direction of the falls. "Now, if you'll forgive me, sirs, I must insist you depart. I have a most critical project underway, which requires my undivided attention." Tesla turned abruptly without another word, and strode back to his workbench.

The Doctor opened his mouth but Watson got there before him. "We already saw Mr. Westinghouse – he told us where to find you."

The Time Lord came forward, hands in his pockets. "This doesn't look like equipment for a power station generator, Mr. Tesla." He bent down to inspect a piece of machinery on a shelf, his eyes gleaming with their usual curiosity, but Holmes saw with a sinking feeling that there was a large amount of disquiet in there as well...

Tesla waved a hand dismissively. "I never said it was..." then the deep-set eyes narrowed. "And what business is that of yours, may I ask?" He shot the three a piercing glare. "What do you want? If your employer is hoping to secure my services, he'll have to wait; I simply haven't the time to take on any more new commissions at present." His eyes flickered for an instant towards the dividing door standing slightly ajar at the far end of the room.

Ah... Holmes caught the Doctor's eye, casting a swift glance of his own at the back room, then turned as if to leave. 'Unfortunately', his elbow collided with a jar full of washers on the shelf beside him, knocking it to the floor; the glass smashed on the wooden boards and tiny metal rings went rolling in every direction. Holmes dropped to his hands and knees to try to gather them, stammering out an apology, his expression one of profound embarassment; out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Doctor silently slipping through the door.

Tesla's face was equally red, moustache almost bristling as he picked up an odd-looking apparatus from the workbench, striding over impatiently. "One side," he said curtly, then flipped a switch on the device and began sweeping it over the floor. Within very few seconds, most of the washers were clinging to the metal case of what must be a compact electromagnet – such an ingeniously simple solution. "If you _gentlemen_ have quite finished wasting my time," voice acidly polite, "perhaps you will be so good as to see yourselves out?"

Watson caught himself gazing at the magnet in fascination and turned his attention to placating their bristling host. "We _are_ terribly sorry, sir." The doctor stepped back to give Tesla room to work, shooting Holmes a questioning look.

Holmes nodded over at the door through which the Doctor had disappeared, arching an eyebrow in the unspoken message: '_Stand by for fireworks..._'

Sure enough, Tesla finished cleaning up a moment later and glanced around the room, most likely looking for a broom for the broken glass, then paled when he realised that the Doctor was missing. Still unconsciously holding the washer-covered magnet, the physicist rushed across the room, Holmes and Watson close behind, bursting through the door with a shout of anger: "Hi, you! What the _devil_ do you think you're doing?!"

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:** Indeed, what _is_ the Doctor up to... and why is Tesla so anxious to see the back of the Companions in the first place? Stay tuned!


	2. A Piece of Cardiff

**==Chapter 2: A Piece of Cardiff==**

_"No matter what we attempt to do, no matter to what fields we turn our efforts, we are dependent on power. We have to evolve means of obtaining energy from stores which are forever inexhaustible, to perfect methods which do not imply consumption and waste of any material whatever."_

– Nikola Tesla

The Doctor's breath caught. The machine before him was a marvellous piece of work, considering the era, but it possessed a sort of cylinder large enough to hold a person. He donned his specs on instinct and began to inspect the machine. It didn't run on electricity—that much he could tell right away—and that alone was tripping off alarms in his mind. He didn't have to be a Time Lord to know something too-advanced when he saw it.

"You!" The Doctor whirled as Tesla burst in and advanced on him, bearing a washer-covered magnet. "What the _devil_ do you think you're doing?! Get away from there!" The smaller man trembled in fury, face flushing. "I might have known—you're from General Electric!" His tone turned scornful. "You can tell that plebian buffoon that I'm not going to sue him, but the press will have a field day at the generator test when they learn that Thomas Edison is reduced to spying on his rivals!" He drew himself up and pointed imperiously at the door. "Now, get out, before I summon the police!"

Holmes and Watson appeared in the doorway, tense, both staring in wonder and curiosity at the machine.

"Mr. Tesla," the Doctor said softly, soothingly, "please..." He touched the steel casing with all the reverence due to a new invention, no matter how unsettling. "It's an impressive set-up." Tesla did a double-take, apparently intrigued with the Doctor's obvious expertise. "Your control console isn't quite there yet—you've accounted for time and intensity but not pressure, temperature, radiation... Not even a safety gauge to alert when something malfunctions."

Tesla looked mildly insulted. "I shall overlook your offense on this occasion, sir, as it is clear that you are unfamiliar with my methods. Hardly surprising, I suppose; your employer is not one to give credit to any man's labours unless he can claim them as his own..." The scientist's tone had turned bitter, and the Doctor knew that, sadly, it was justified: Edison might end up being the most famous inventor of his time, but his business ethics hardly warranted it.

Tesla proudly waved a hand in the air, in much the same attitude as a magician on stage. Yeah, the Doctor could see how Watson was reminded of his friend in the Serbian... Tesla began to pace, restless, before the machine. "You see, sirs, when I begin a new project, I start at once building it up in my imagination; I change the construction, make improvements, and even operate the device. It is immaterial to me whether I run the machine in my mind or test it in my workshop. The inventions I have conceived in this way have always worked. In fourteen years there has not been a single exception. My first electric motor, the vacuum wireless light, my turbine engine, and many other devices have all been developed in exactly this way."

He stopped and looked at each of the three time-travellers in turn, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Once I have finished construction, this machine will operate precisely as it ought, of that I can assure you."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, faintly amused at the man's hubris. He knew that Tesla would be regarded as the archetypal mad scientist, but it was kind of something to see it in-person... He raised a placating hand once he was sure the scientist had finished. "I don't doubt it. Listen, Mr. Tesla, we're not under Edison's employ—of that I can assure _you_. Personally, I'm something of a concerned party. So your machine will work—my greatest concern, at the moment, is _how_ it will work. You're clearly not running it on electricity, despite all the wires and tubes." He dug his hands into his pockets, frowning, equally curious and apprehensive. "What's your power source?"

Tesla studied the Time Lord closely, then must have decided he was telling the truth. His face relaxed, and he beckoned the three of them closer to the machine. "Gentlemen, you are about to witness a technological marvel. For rather than relying on electricity—such clumsily generated static—this machine is yoked to the very wheelwork of nature." In a hushed, reverent tone: "Behold!" He opened a compartment at the base of the control panel... and the Doctor's breath caught again.

It was a fist-sized, brass-bound glass tube—a power cell—full of sparkling, glowing, multi-colored energy, moving and rippling inside the power cell as though it were alive. "For the first time in history," Tesla continued in that same reverent tone, "mankind has harnessed the cosmic energy of the universe itself..."

The Doctor could only stare in horror, never mind the wonder in his Companions' eyes. "Whoa, wait, no! That's not—that's _Rift_ matter; _that could kill you_. That's infinitely more powerful than electricity and _infinitely_ more _uncontrollable_." Eyes blazing, he straightened and withdrew his hands from his pockets. However Tesla got the stuff could not be good, and the Doctor was betting already on the worst. "Where did it come from?"

Tesla's ears had pricked up on hearing the proper term for the energy, the description obviously exciting him further. He shrank back at the Doctor's anger, but defensively, resentfully, looking like nothing so much as a little kid worried about a favourite toy being taken away. "That, sir, is confidential. In any case, I have already conducted several tests on this energy cell to determine its efficiency—and none of my equipment has indicated that it is as volatile as you claim."

The Doctor grabbed at his hair. "But your equipment would be nowhere near capable of reading it accurately!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Holmes frown. "I notice, Mr. Tesla," he said, "that you have yet to explain what this machine's function is—I assume whoever gave you that fuel cell had a specific purpose in mind."

Exactly. The Doctor gazed steadily at Tesla. "Why would a machine need 'cosmic energy' in the first place?" he said quietly, and jerked his head at the capsule. "It's obviously meant to have somebody inside it—what happens to them?"

Tesla, to his credit, looked aghast. "'Them,' sir? How could you think I would subject anyone to such a process without first carrying it out on myself?" His eyes positively glowed with enthusiasm. "And with the throw of a single lever, I will change the course of mankind's destiny overnight.

"Have you never looked back over the course of your lives, sirs," he continued earnestly, "and sincerely wondered if you had truly made any difference at all in the grand scheme of things? What if you could find out, could live long enough to see the greater picture?"

Holmes winced. The Doctor held his peace—in his mind's eye, he saw Satellite Five. The entire human race that he'd effectively abandoned to the Daleks.

Tesla laid a reverent hand on his machine, half talking to himself—clearly a familiar, long-rehearsed internal monologue. "As men of science, we do not aim at immediate results, or expect that our advanced ideas will be readily taken up. Our work has always been like the planting of trees, laying the foundation for those to come. So many projects have been retarded by the laws of nature, being too far ahead of their time. Nevertheless, there is an inherent belief which drives us, that those same laws will prevail in the end and make each one of those ideas a triumphal success. And now..."

He seemed to return to the present. "Now we need not merely imagine their coming to fruition; we shall see them realised. You and I and others like us shall live to see our theories vindicated, rescued from decades of ignominy and ridicule." He smiled in satisfaction. "They say a genius is never appreciated in his lifetime—well, no more."

The Doctor shook his head slowly, his gaze never leaving Tesla. The man would die in the New Yorker Hotel in 1943, at the age of 86... Whatever was going on here, the scientist would not succeed; even Time-in-flux could only change so much. "You mean to prolong lifetimes," the Doctor murmured impassively. "For how long?"

Tesla looked at him as if the answer was obvious. "Why not indefinitely?"

The Doctor lifted one eyebrow slightly. "Because it doesn't work like that. Some people live more in twenty years than others do in eighty. It's not the time that matters—it's the person." He sighed, and it was the sigh of someone old, someone with authority, whether he liked it or not, having to do something he wasn't going to particularly enjoy. He looked Tesla directly in the eye, holding nothing back, his gaze intense and ancient. "Please, for your own sake... stop the project."

Tesla spread his hands and shrugged. "There seems to be nothing I can say to convince you, sir, that I am doing this for the sake of humanity." His expression was pitying, and the Doctor felt a flash of genuine anger—the man had no idea... "But men like you you cannot stand in the way of progress indefinitely." Tesla turned to Holmes and Watson. "And you, gentlemen? What would you not give to have a second, a third, lifetime—time enough to accomplish all that you are capable of?"

Holmes shook his head firmly. "I can understand your position, Mr. Tesla... but I sincerely doubt that your machine would truly benefit humanity—for who would use it? Ultimately, it would fall into the hands of the highest bidder, the powerful, the corrupt; for the pure of heart and purpose would not shrink from death, or call it a curse. I honestly believe that in trying to rise above Nature, we are far more likely to fall below it."

Watson's expression was strained, and the Doctor realised that his human colleague must be thinking of Mary... Oh, dear heavens, Watson was entirely the wrong person to be offered something like this: he had seen so many die—his wife, his patients, his fellow soldiers... But Watson took a deep breath, and peace came over his features. "My friend is right," he said quietly. "I would not want immortality..." His gaze strayed toward the Doctor. "I would pity, rather, anyone unfortunate enough to possess it."

The Doctor regretted that Watson had to answer in the first place, but he was proud of him. Of them both. The Time Lord took a step towards the inventor. "I'm sorry, Nikola, I truly am. But I can't let you do this."

Tesla sniffed scornfully. "And you have the authority to stop me, I suppose?" He lifted his chin and stared haughtily at the Doctor. "Who _do_ you think you are?"

The Doctor brought the full weight of a thousand years and the authority of that experience to bear in his gaze. Tesla's dark eyes widened, the Time Lord's presence finally making an impression as he declared, in a low tone, "I'm the Doctor." He lifted the sonic and pointed it at the power cell, disengaging it from the machine. "And you, Nikola Tesla, are playing with something far bigger and more dangerous than you can imagine."

"Doctor, please!" Still so stubborn... "This is humanity's best opportunity to evolve, to transcend our limitations—you can't take that away from me..." The man fell silent, seemingly a bit abashed.

"I'm sorry," said the Doctor. He knew this would burn and fester—any inventor's invention was a part of him, just as a book was a part of its writer and a painting a part of its painter. But better that poor Tesla bear that pain than regret later on when he saw Holmes's predictions borne out... The First World War loomed on the horizon. Tesla would even live to see the Second. If there could be a worst time in history for something like his invention to happen, this would be it.

The Doctor reached in and carefully, gingerly removed the cell from the machine. "You think history's only made with equations?" he continued, gently but firmly. "Facing death is part of being human. You can't change that. No one can."

Tesla apparently saw that he didn't stand much of a chance in stopping the Doctor, especially with numbers on the Doctor's side. He could only glare daggers at the Time Lord, his tone bitter. "Forgive me, sir, if I remain unconvinced. Good day to you." He gave a cold bow.

"Good day, Mr. Tesla," the Doctor said sadly. He really didn't enjoy doing this... "Don't stop being brilliant." He lowered his head, turned, and strode away, and his Companions were not far behind. Not the kind of meeting he'd been looking for, especially with it being Holmes's specific wish.

Some days, being the Doctor was no fun at all.

* * *

Holmes nodded down at the cell as they headed back to the TARDIS, not liking in the least the way the Doctor was gingerly cradling it, as if he were afraid it might shatter at the slightest jolt. "Doctor, what exactly is Rift matter? Why is it so dangerous?"

The Doctor gave him a worried look. **"**There're breaks in the fabric of reality – rips, tears. You remember the breach that the K'vir came through?" As if Holmes could forget... "That was the most deadly type, a rip allowing access between this universe and the Void. Well, never mind the Void for now – normal rips, or _rifts_, are breaches _within_ reality rather than between reality and nothing. Rift matter is what's inside the rifts – it's..." He waved his free hand, searching for the right word. "Well, I suppose you could say... it's reality. It's physical reality – it's _potential_ reality."

Holmes blinked slowly, doing his best to wrap his mind around the concept. "So... the cosmic equivalent of clay, before it is shaped by the potter?" Which was not a reassuring analogy...

"But how in blazes is such a powerful substance being contained in such a flimsy-seeming vessel?" Watson's brow furrowed. "That can't be ordinary glass, can it?"

"Basically," the Doctor nodded approvingly at Holmes before turning to Watson: "And no, it's not ordinary glass." He hefted the cell cautiously. "It's nothing that the sonic can identify, though. I wonder if this is Torchwood's doing..." he mused, gazing warily at the swirling energy. "I mean, it's across the Pond, but it's not _strictly_ in defense of Britain, as far as I can tell..."

Holmes pricked up his ears. "Torchwood?" The name sounded vaguely familiar.

The Doctor grimaced. "Oh! Pfff... Torchwood's a special agency, created by Victoria around the time you would have been getting started as a detective. Its purpose is, ah, to defend Queen and country... from extraterrestrial life..." he finished awkwardly.

Watson sighed – the Doctor's self-conscious air spoke volumes. "Without exception, I gather?" He shook his head, half in amusement, half in exasperation. "Honestly, Doctor, you seem to make a veritable hobby of upsetting royalty!"

"I saved her life!" the Doctor protested. "Queen Victoria would've been killed by a werewolf, or become one if Rose and I hadn't been there! She knights me and makes Rose a dame and then she banishes me!" He frowned indignantly. "Of all the nerve!"

"Werewolf?!" Watson's eyes were as round as saucers. "Actually, never mind," he continued hastily, "I don't want to know!" Holmes could just hear his friend's heartfelt muttering: "As long as vampires stay fictional..."

Holmes cast the doctor a sympathetic look – the Baskerville case hadn't been a pleasant experience for either of them, but it had taken weeks for Watson to stop flinching whenever they heard a dog howl. "So Tesla may have obtained the cell from this Torchwood agency?" he continued, partly in the hope of turning his friend's thoughts elsewhere.

"Maybe..."

Holmes frowned uneasily – the Doctor's uncertainty on any subject was a certain indicator of impending trouble, as reliable as a canary in a coal mine. "What do you intend to do with it?"

"Well, first thing to do is get back to the TARDIS – we'll make a stop in Cardiff. Deposit this thing where it probably came from, the Cardiff Rift." The Doctor sighed as they approached the vessel, smiling ruefully at the detective. "Well, Holmes, what do you think? Should we come back later?"

"For the Thursday test?" Holmes shook his head. "I suspect we've already worn out our welcome. Besides, what if Tesla were to notice and kick up a fuss? The last thing Watson and I need is to come to the attention of any journalists at this point." The chance of their pictures or descriptions making the London papers was minimal perhaps, but all the same... better to err on the side of caution this time.

The Doctor nodded regretfully. "Sorry about that, Holmes. Just our luck, eh?" He stepped up to the TARDIS's door and tried to open it, only to find it shut tight. Frowning, the Doctor reached for his key, but even then the door refused to open. "Heeey!" He jiggled the key in the lock. "Honey, come on, let us in! We need to take care of this!"

Holmes blinked in surprise as he felt a swift brush across his thoughts, carrying a clear picture of Mrs. Hudson's face on discovering certain bullet hole initials in her sitting room wall. The TARDIS was broadcasting exactly the same horrified disapproval – and loud enough for all three men to sense, judging by Watson's startled expression.

"Oi, I know!" The Doctor's voice took on a pleading note. "That's why you need to let us in! Honey, come on!"

"Doctor, why won't she open?" Watson peered suspiciously at the energy cell. "Could she be –" He frowned as he searched for the right word: "I don't know – allergic to that?"

The Doctor straightened, gritting his teeth. "Gah, she doesn't want to let something this volatile in. She's not allergic – she literally feeds on this stuff when I can get her positioned over a Rift, but she doesn't want it brought inside her like this." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, which was caught a moment later by a sudden rising wind.

Holmes and Watson looked up together in alarm as iron-grey clouds began to gather overhead, seemingly out of nowhere. Lightning flashed across the sky, echoed by rolling thunder – and the next instant, little blue-white sparks started discharging off everything: the Companions, the TARDIS, trees, fences, arcing between blades of grass... Holmes' eye was caught by a flutter of movement – a butterfly was serenely floating past with what looked like blue St. Elmo's fire swirling around its wings...

The detective heard a gasp from the Doctor, and turned to see the Time Lord staring in horror towards Tesla's lab. "This wasn't the only cell he had!" The Doctor took off at breakneck speed back up the road, sparks leaping between his feet and the ground. "Come on!"

* * *

**Author's note from Ria**: If any of that last bit sounds far-fetched, look up Nikola Tesla on wikipedia, namely his experiments in Colorado Springs... Truth can be _way_ stranger than fiction, folks!

**Author's note from Sky:** I really, really love the first scene, I must say! The real life Tesla is such a strong figure, and I think Ria did an excellent job with him! And, of course, it's yet another hard-hitting, emotional scene to do from the Doctor's POV—always love those; those are my faves.

And, of course, the Rift-induced storm? Still gives me shivers!


	3. Fallout

**==Chapter 3: Fallout==**

_"Funny how everything can change in an instant. From death to life. From empty to full. From darkness to light."  
_— Megan Miranda, _Fracture_

Stupid. Stupid and careless of him not even to _consider_ that Tesla might have a backup cell.

"Doctor," Watson called behind him, "those people at the power station—shouldn't we warn them?"

"And tell them what?" Holmes countered. The Doctor did not have to turn to know that Holmes was giving his friend a Look. "Westinghouse is a sensible man, Watson: he'll look after them."

"Tesla's our priority," the Doctor added tersely. "There's no telling what he may have done to himself. No one else should be in any sort of immediate danger."

The lab door was bolted this time when they reached it. "Doctor, the hinges," said Holmes. The Doctor nodded and pointed the sonic at each hinge, the pins popping out as he did. The three of them levered open the door and rushed in.

The lab looked as though it had been through a nuclear fallout, traces of energy still spider-webbing here and there. The Doctor raised the sonic. "It's Rift matter, all right, but it's already expended itself—it's not going to hurt us."

He ran into the backroom—the machine was still intact, another power cell in place but utterly empty now. The transformation must have used up all the energy. Another flick of the sonic, and the chamber door popped open with a hiss, revealing an unconscious child lying in Tesla's adult clothes. "Oh, God," the Doctor breathed, closing his eyes briefly.

Behind him, he heard Watson and Holmes enter the room. "Merciful heaven," murmured Watson, horrified. "Oh, the poor fool…"

"Dear Lord," Holmes breathed. Then, in an awed tone: "He actually did it…"

The Doctor sat on his haunches and murmured, "Nikola?" He willed the TARDIS to translate his words into Serbian. "_Nikola, are you all right?_" The boy didn't stir. The Doctor winced, not wanting to scare the child but afraid that he had no other choice. He tentatively reached for Nikola and touched his shoulder…

The boy screamed, eyes wide open and staring at nothing…

The Doctor recoiled with a cry, a myriad of painful memories flashing before his mind's eye and no distinguishing between his or Nikola's…

He gasped for breath, blinking back tears, and sat back up, leaning forward again without touching the still-screaming child. "Shhhh! Shh, shh, Nikola!" Chest still heaving, he managed to pull himself back under control. "_It's all right—you'll be all right. Nikola? Nikola, look at me_."

The boy's screams slowly faded to a keening whimper, his dark eyes, still glassy and full of terror, focusing gradually on the Doctor's face. On instinct, the Doctor reached for him again, then stopped, shuddering at the incredible flash of pain he'd felt a minute earlier. He took a deep breath and began to sing softly, a lullaby in Gallifreyan.

It was almost instinctive, even after all these centuries… For months after he'd gazed into the Untempered Schism as an eight-year-old, he would wake from nightmares. Mother would soothe him back to sleep with that ancient song.

The boy gradually uncurled from his fetal position, reaching out towards the Doctor. The Time Lord kept singing, and slowly raised his hand and lowered it in a cautioning gesture.

"Doctor, how can we help?" Watson murmured, concerned.

The Doctor stopped humming. "Somebody needs to carry him back to the TARDIS," he murmured back, "and it can't be me. I don't know what we can do for him just yet, but the thing right now is to get him to the TARDIS."

A familiar voice sounded behind them, mildly stunned but determined. "I'll carry him."

It was George Westinghouse.

* * *

The three time-travellers whirled around, staring openmouthed at the newest arrival.

"Mr. Westinghouse! What...?!" The Doctor sounded as astonished as Watson felt. His colleague noted with approval, however, that Westinghouse was looking far more concerned than shocked at this extraordinary turn of events.

"It didn't take a genius to figure out where all that static was coming from, Dr. Smith." Westinghouse slowly came forward and knelt beside Tesla. "Call me hasty, but Nikola and large amounts of electricity usually go hand in glove." The man carefully laid a large but gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, smiling down at him kindly. "Nikola? D'you know me, son?"

The Doctor exhaled softly in relief as Nikola gave Westinghouse a small smile in response, trying and failing to raise himself on trembling arms.

Westinghouse carefully gathered the boy up, eyes widening. "You gentlemen know anything about medicine? I'm no doctor, but he feels far too warm to me."

Watson put his hand to Nikola's forehead, looking up at Westinghouse with a grave nod – the boy's temperature was much too high. "He has a fever. Doctor...?"

The Doctor's face was equally grave. "Right. Let's get him back to the TARDIS now." He looked ruefully at Westinghouse. "Mr. Westinghouse, you've done a brilliant job this far, keeping your mind open – I'm afraid you're going to have to keep it open a bit longer. It'll be easier on you."

Westinghouse smiled modestly as they rose and headed for the exit. "'George', please – it's less of a mouthful."

"Indeed," Holmes interjected, regarding the man curiously, "your acceptance of these circumstances is most remarkable, sir."

Westinghouse... George shrugged. "I'm an inventor myself – and even if I wasn't, you can't spend much time around Nikola Tesla without constantly rethinking what's possible and what's not. You might be surprised at what I'm prepared to take on faith here."

Watson smiled faintly as they left the building. "I understand the sentiment... ah, George... believe me. Even so... stepping into the TARDIS shall likely be... something of a shock, to put it mildly."

The Doctor's smile, no doubt at the memory of his colleague's first reaction to the TARDIS's interior, quickly faded to an uneasy frown.

"Where's your lady berthed?" It took a confused Watson a few moments to realise: they were near a lake, and given the way they'd been referring to the TARDIS, George had not unnaturally assumed it was the name of a boat.

The Doctor pointed to where the TARDIS was a small bit of deep blue ahead. "Y'see that blue box? That's my lady."

Watson smiled briefly as George stared, giving the Doctor an odd look, but that smile turned to a grimace as he looked back down at Nikola. "And we need to hurry – I don't like the way the boy is looking." The storm clouds had already cleared, and in the full light of day, the boy seemed a good deal worse, face pale and drawn, pupils slightly dilated.

George nodded earnestly. "Whatever it takes to help him, sir; any fee you care to name, I'll triple it."

"Oi, no money involved, George." Although there was a distinct gleam of approval in the Doctor's eye at the inventor's open-handedness. "Trust me, if I charged for my services, nobody could afford me just on account of over-qualification alone..." His voice trailed off as he looked back towards the TARDIS again. "Uh-oh..."

Two men in grease-stained overalls were standing to one side of the vessel, and it was evident from their body language that their being in that precise spot was no mere coincidence – they could see her.

George frowned as the four men warily drew nearer. "Jones? Peterson?" So Watson's first impression had been correct: these men were two of Westinghouse's engineering crew. "I thought you were still at the power station – has something else happened?"

Peterson, the taller of the pair, ignored Westinghouse entirely. "Doctor... It's an honour to meet you at last. I assume you know who we are." The pleasant smile the 'engineer' was wearing didn't reach his eyes – in fact, both men had a cold, implacable air about them that put all of Watson's instincts on alert. He edged forward in front of George and Nikola.

The Doctor's voice and eyes were hard as steel. "I think so, yes, and I have a pretty good idea of what you want, too. Let me save you the trouble of asking: No."

Peterson's eyes narrowed even as his smile widened, and suddenly there were two odd-looking firearms trained on the group. "Now, now, Doctor – there's no need for things to become unpleasant. None of you gentlemen were responsible for this unfortunate incident, and regardless of what you might think, Torchwood does have a sense of responsibility towards its employees. Hand over the boy –" The agent chuckled, correcting himself: "Mr. Tesla, and the second power cell, and you and your friends are free to go."

George tightened his jaw, along with his hold on Nikola. "You can't have him."

"Even if we were prepared to make such a bargain, sir," Holmes said icily, "how could we trust you to uphold your end of it?"

Peterson sighed. "If you want the absolute truth, Mr. Holmes..." Holmes arched an eyebrow at the man's use of his name, but didn't waste his breath in denying it. "We're both aware of what the Doctor is capable of, and we simply don't fancy the extra work involved in detaining him." The agent spread his hands magnanimously. "We're fully prepared to look the other way on this occasion and let him slip through our fingers."

"Then you really _don't_ know what I'm capable of," the Doctor said quietly. "And right now, I'm _not_ capable of letting go of Nikola Tesla when he needs me. You don't have the resources to help him, I know you don't, and I think that _helping_ him would be low on your list of priorities in the first place. So... here's what I'm going to do – " He whipped out the sonic and pointed it at the power cell, voice deceptively cheerful. "You gentlemen know what sound waves can do to glass, don't you? What do you suppose might happen if this glass were to – oh, I don't know – shatter?"

Both agents turned pale, and Peterson swallowed hard, the smile sliding off his face. "You expect us to believe you'd do something that insane, Doctor, surrounded by your companions?" The man was trying to sound scornful, with little success. "Without the proper instruments to channel that energy..."

The Doctor gave him a mirthless smirk. "Are you willing to bet your life on the assumption that I won't? You take the power cell, and the damage your people would do with it... So! Move away from the big blue box, if you please."

Jones and Peterson exchanged glances, then Peterson nodded reluctantly. Both agents lowered their weapons, moving a few feet to the side. Peterson glared venomously at the Time Lord, voice cold. "This isn't over, Doctor."

"Oh, you have _no_ idea." And with a tight smile, the Doctor lobbed the power cell high over their heads.

"No!" Peterson yelled frantically, both agents diving to catch the cell before it could hit the ground.

Watson didn't wait to see if they'd make it, just grabbed George's arm, hauling him and Nikola towards the TARDIS. Mercifully, George merely followed his lead without hesitating – this really wouldn't have been a good moment to explain how the five of them were going to fit in such a seemingly small space. The door swung open at the first touch; thank God, she must have realised the Doctor had had no intention of trying to bring the cell on board this time.

George took one step inside and froze, jaw dropping as he took in his surroundings, but didn't resist as Holmes shunted him to one side so that he and the Doctor could enter. The Time Lord slammed the door shut and raced up the ramp to the console, throwing down a lever and getting them all the hell out of 1895.

* * *

"George!" the Doctor called, before they were even fully in the Vortex. "Bring him over here! I think this is what he needs!"

The man obeyed, obviously still in shock, stumbling as the TARDIS lurched.

"Doctor, what are you talking about?" Watson called from where he was still hanging on to a strut.

"The TARDIS's psychic energy! If she can connect with Nikola, she can keep him stable!"

George Westinghouse visibly pulled himself together. "What should I do?"

"Just stay with him," said the Doctor, finishing up the sequence that would allow the TARDIS to drift safely in the Vortex. "You're the only person here he really knows. I don't know what his mental development is like right now, but whether he has the mind of a child or an adult, he needs any familiarity he can get."

Watson carefully approached Nikola and began to check him. "Doctor, what do _we_ do?"

The Time Lord found his gaze riveted to the little boy who had been a grown man a mere hour ago. "I'm not sure." Nikola's skin was sallow but beaded with sweat, his pupils fully dilated, his breathing shallow as he shivered. He looked as though he'd contracted pneumonia.

Holmes appeared at the Doctor's side. "Doctor, if I may? Mr. Westinghouse, I think Nikola needs to be touching the console."

Westinghouse—George—obliged and moved Nikola closer, taking the small hand and placing it on the console. The Doctor didn't fail to note the fact that George covered the boy's hand with his own. Maybe Westinghouse and Tesla were closer friends than the Doctor had thought...

The TARDIS beeped and hummed soothingly. The Time Lord felt her allowing the boy's psyche to mesh with her own, comfortably, the way only a TARDIS could do it. Slowly, color returned to Nikola's eyes and face, his body calming.

"Oh, thank God," Watson breathed.

Holmes let out a long, silent breath.

George sagged in obvious relief. "Thank you," he murmured to the TARDIS.

She twittered a soft reply.

"She says 'you're welcome,'" the Doctor translated. He rested a hand on the column, needing her psychic support, as well, after Nikola's brief, instinctive attack. She drew him into her embrace as a mother would her child, and they held each other for a long, comfortable minute...

Until he sensed something akin to the mental equivalent of a telephone ring. He frowned and pulled back from his girl, digging into his jacket where the psychic paper seemed to be burning a hole... "_What?!_"

Holmes tensed and leant in for a look. "What is it?"

"Message on the psychic." The Doctor turned to him, wide-eyed. "That... doesn't happen much."

Holmes read it aloud, casting an apologetic glance at the Doctor as he did. "'TR 50. —Ace.' Someone just sent you this?"

The Doctor nodded mutely, remembering—truly remembering—Ace for the first time in a long time. The bright-eyed teenager in the pony tail and bomber jacket, blaring her stereo like a true '80s kid and pulling a can of Nitro-9 out of her backpack...

George's ears pricked up. "TR 50... _TR 50—_where have I heard that before?" he murmured, frowning at the floor in concentration.

"Doctor, who is 'Ace'?" Watson said gently.

The Doctor came to with a slight shiver. "Ah, a girl." _His_ girl, his daughter for all intents and purposes... "A child, really, when we started traveling together. The funny little man with the umbrella and the girl in the black jacket, always carrying a backpack full of explosives... That was a very long time ago," he breathed. Before the Time War.

Holmes nodded slowly. "And if the young lady is sending you a message now... would it be reasonable to assume that she is aware of what is happening here and trying to assist?"

"Maybe..." The Time Lord frowned at himself. "Could she be? Well, come _on_, this is _Ace_ we're talking about, she can do anything..." Looking up, he smiled sheepishly and frowned again just as quickly. "But 'TR 50'?"

George's eyes widened, and he snapped his fingers. "Doctor, I know what that number is: it's a train! The Empire State Express—it runs between Buffalo and New York City."

Holmes's eyes gleamed. "Transport, of course! Those agents must be moving Tesla's machine to a more secure location."

"But an express is passengers-only, isn't it?" said Watson. "Wouldn't they need a freight train for something that size?"

George grinned. "Dr. Watson, that's the very train _we_ used to transport most of Nikola's generator to Niagara. When you've been in business as long as I have, you can persuade the right people to make an exception on almost anything." He sobered. "And from what I've seen of this 'Torchwood' outfit... I'll bet my life that that train has freight cars on this run, too."

The Doctor smiled slightly. "Oh, George Westinghouse, I like you very much." 'Nother genius. Life could hardly get better. He smoothed his hand down the column, gave it an affectionate pat, and suddenly felt old and tired. He hadn't seen Ace in centuries. "Well then, we'd better catch that express," he said softly. "_Allons-y_." He threw down the lever.

His Companions grabbed for handholds and steadied their passengers as the TARDIS shuddered back out of the Vortex. "I hate to nitpick, Doctor," Watson said, his tone uneasy, "but a moving boxcar doesn't strike me as the easiest of targets. What if we simply landed at the New York station ahead of them?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Wayeeell, the message simply said 'TR 50', not 'Grand Central Terminal'." He turned his gaze downward, murmuring, "And if it's Ace... never mind. Come on." The TARDIS settled, and the Doctor moved towards the door, with a glance at Nikola as he passed him. "George, stay put with Nikola—I think he'll be just fine now, but still." He put his hand on the door and glanced expectantly at the boys.

Holmes nodded and followed, then stopped, waiting for Watson, who hesitated. Of course: doctor. Didn't like leaving a patient alone.

George waved him off, though, with a smile. "Go on, Doctor—we'll be all right here."

Watson gave the man a curious look, and the Doctor realised that George had been using Watson's real name without an actual introduction. Oooo, genius. Watson grinned and nodded at the Doctor. "'Watson', please—it's less confusing."

George's own smile widened. "I'd be honoured."

Watson joined the others at the door. "Right. Shall we?"

The Doctor nodded, pulled out the sonic, and gave it a twirl as he opened the door and stepped out. "Be careful, everybody." He scrunched up his face in thought for a moment. "And we'll leave the door open, all right? She'll close up on her own if she senses any danger." He patted the doorframe affectionately... and then wondered what Ace would think about stepping back into the TARDIS, after all these years... "All right, let's go!"

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:** It's amazing just how much research you end up doing when writing science fiction, especially time travel. Alternate universe or not, I always feel I owe it to the historical people and places I'm writing about to depict them as accurately as possible – although of course, once the Doctor shows up, all bets are off! As for the Doctor Who-verse itself... I didn't know half of what I know now about the show when we first started writing this series! Who says education ain't fun?

**Author's note from Sky:** I just sit here in awe of my coauthor's mad research skills. *sigh*

...anyhoo... So, child!Tesla! The decision to de-age him is what truly gave us our story—after that, the rest did not take long to fall into place. And, yes, you can bet that we're in for some truly heartrending moments later on!


	4. An Express Enemy

**==Chapter 4: An Express Enemy==**

"_...So all that was great in the past was ridiculed, condemned, combatted, suppressed—only to emerge all the more powerfully, all the more triumphantly from the struggle."_

—Nikola Tesla

The three exited the TARDIS to find themselves in the last boxcar, which was otherwise empty. Holmes and Watson slid open the centre door and were met by a blast of ice-cold air, the wind pummelling at them as the Express sped along the track. Holmes examined the outside of the car, deeply concerned by what he found: contrary to what he'd hoped, the car's exterior offered almost no decent foot or handholds – how on Earth were they going to reach the next car without killing themselves? Then he looked in the other direction, and light dawned: the sliding door's framework was mounted with horizontal wooden slats, which could serve as a ladder.

Holmes caught both doctors' attention, nodding upwards. "I'll go first." Drawing a deep breath, he took a firm hold of a couple of slats, not daring to trust his weight to just one, then swung himself out and began to climb. The detective had to take care to spread his limbs, spiderlike; the wind and the motion of the car kept trying to push him to the left. He was also having great difficulty ignoring the unforgiving ground rushing past below – he hadn't had such a nerve-wracking climb since Reichenbach... Finally, he reached the top and managed to lever himself over the edge, then turned back and beckoned to Watson.

Watson set his teeth and followed the detective's example, muttering what was probably a running stream of epithets under his breath the entire time. He would have done better to have paid more attention to the climb, however, as his trouser cuff snagged on a large splinter halfway up and caused him to miss the next foothold. Watson's knuckles whitened as he trod the air for a moment, before regaining his footing with the help of the Doctor; with Holmes assisting from above, he too made it onto the roof, breathing hard, eyes wide.

The Doctor followed soon after, grimacing at the harsh wind. "Sorry!" He looked over reluctantly at the gap between the two cars. "Oh, been a long time since I've done this. Good news is, the machine is right next door!" It would have to be – as far as Holmes could see, there were only two freight cars coupled to the train. "Bad news is, well..."

Holmes shrugged with a nonchalance he was far from feeling. "Well, we don't exactly have much choice!" He crawled along the roof, staying as low as he could, then when he got to the edge, carefully raised himself into a crouch like a sprinter. Taking another deep breath, he launched himself across the gap, sprawling unsteadily onto the next roof and freezing in that position until his heart stopped thundering in his ears. Watson was next, Holmes steadying his friend as he landed just as ungracefully.

The Doctor grinned, crouched, and shot forward, landing more or less on all fours. "Look at that!" he laughed, "I _should_ go into sports!" He pointed the sonic down, nodding. "Oooh, here we go – sonic's picking up readings identical to Tesla's machine! Holmes, you wanna go down first or should I?"

"Really, Doctor," came a familiar voice to their left, making them start, "you're always in such a rush!" Peterson was kneeling at the far end of the car's roof, firearm trained on them unwaveringly despite the train's motion. How the devil...?! If Holmes didn't know better, he would swear the man had simply appeared out of thin air. "Why not take a moment to enjoy the view?"

The Doctor turned to the agent with a glare. "I would, but you're in the way. The message... pretty impressive, that. Did you send it?"

A glimmer of unease showed in Peterson's eyes, swiftly concealed beneath a smug grin. "Oh, I'm afraid my talents don't extend quite that far, Doctor. It's good of you to join us, though – we were beginning to think you'd mislaid your invitation." The man nodded back the way they'd come.

Holmes turned with the others to look, and his insides twisted at the sight. Jones was kneeling on the roof of the second car, just above where the TARDIS must be parked, fastening some kind of compact device to the roof: the Rift matter cell attached to a timing mechanism... Next moment, Jones had activated the timer and was swiftly making his way back towards them.

"What is that?!" But the horror in the Doctor's face said clearly that he already knew the answer. "No, please, you can't! She's the only one left – you lot have to know that by now! She's all that's left of her kind – _please!_"

"But that's been Torchwood's plan from the beginning, hasn't it, Mr. Peterson?" Holmes was a blind idiot not to have seen the truth long before: the agents had been bluffing, they'd _wanted_ the Doctor to bring Tesla's spare power cell on board! "Only you didn't count on the TARDIS being intelligent enough not to fall prey to your first attempts!"

Peterson glowered. "An oversight that will soon be remedied, Mr. Holmes..."

"And what about Tesla and Westinghouse?" Watson growled, eyes blazing.

"Every war has its casualties, Dr. Watson," the agent responded coolly. "A shame two such splendid minds were caught in the crossfire, but there you are."

Jones leapt across the gap, pulled out his firearm and shot a green bolt of some kind of energy at the coupling below. The gap between the cars rapidly widened as the severed connection activated only the end car's brakes – the agents must have sabotaged the failsafe system so that the main Express would keep moving.

The Doctor could only watch helplessly, his eyes filling with bleak despair as every second carried him further away from his ship...

* * *

The first inkling George had that anything was wrong – well, more than it had been earlier! – was when the TARDIS's door slammed shut without warning. The control room lights rapidly dimmed and the air was suddenly filled with a deep gonging chime, like the world's largest bell...

Nikola gasped, body stiffening in George's hold. "...George...!"

"Nikola?!" Thank God, his friend could finally speak again, but the boy's choked whisper was anything but reassuring, dark eyes large and pleading. "What is it, son? What do you need?"

Claw-like hands clutched the front of his jacket. "...George... please... help... her..."

Her? What in the world...? "Who, Nikola? Who needs help?"

"...ship..." Of course – the Doctor had already mentioned the TARDIS was actually a female. "...danger..." Nikola shivered, his next words a frightened whimper: "...where is... her thief...?"

"Easy, son... it's going to be all right..." Remembering how physical contact with the TARDIS had helped earlier, George took Nikola's hand in his and placed them both on the edge of the console. To his great relief, Nikola's breathing slowed, relaxing as the lights began to brighten again. "All right, now – can you two tell me what to do?"

"...up... need to... climb... hurry..."

* * *

Holmes felt a chill as the despair in the Doctor's eyes was abruptly replaced by icy fury. "Doctor, no!" the detective hissed, as the Time Lord sprang to his feet and strode towards Jones, heedless of the warning or the buffeting wind.

Jones' eyes widened, aiming his weapon at the Doctor and pulling the trigger, but the Doctor was already flattening himself to the roof with impressive speed. The energy beam passed harmlessly over the Time Lord and shot towards Peterson, who was also forced to fling himself out of the way... and then the Doctor had his sonic out and blazing downwards.

There was a second horrendous screech as the Express's brakes locked, the entire train shuddering slowly to a halt, throwing everyone on the roof even further off balance, especially Peterson. The agent had been dangerously near the next gap as it was, and only Watson's diving forward to grab him by his shirt collar kept him from being crushed beneath the wheels of the still-moving car.

Holmes was quick to assist Watson in hauling Peterson to safety, then pinned the shaken agent to the roof before he had a chance to react. "How long till that device goes off, Peterson?"

Peterson cursed and struggled, but couldn't break free. "It's too late, detective!" he sneered. "Another thirty seconds, and your precious Time Lord will be at Time's mercy, just like everyone else!"

The Doctor had managed to disarm Jones on his own while his Companions were occupied, and was now holding the agent's head and upper body suspended over the edge of the car, one-handed. "Only a fool makes an unstoppable device, Peterson." To Jones, his voice deceptively calm: "Stop it."

Jones only grinned shakily. "Sorry, Doctor, can't do that from here, it has to be defused manually!" The grin turned nasty. "Just how fast _can_ you run?"

Holmes and Watson exchanged horrified looks, both staring helplessly down the track towards the lone boxcar, knowing it was already far too late – not even the Doctor could cover such a distance on foot in time... Wait... Holmes tensed, his eye caught by a sudden movement. Was that...? The detective exclaimed in excitement as he recognised the tiny figure. "Doctor, it's Westinghouse – he's on the roof!"

"No!" Peterson snarled, as Jones swore viciously under his breath.

Holmes' attention was riveted on the distant inventor, but he could easily sense Watson doing the same as himself: holding his breath, silently praying for their first decent miracle since this whole mess began...

* * *

The Doctor could see the tiny figure that was George Westinghouse slowly rising to his feet, then turning to face them. Even at this distance, the fuel cell was visible, glowing in his hand—which he then raised in a clear gesture of triumph. Voices sounded in the distance—the Express crew running towards them and passengers demanding to know what was happening.

The Time Lord could only cling to the vibrant presence in his mind that was his magnificent girl, the presence that was still shining strongly, that had not been darkened... "Thank you," he whispered to George. Life without the TARDIS... not so long ago, he thought he might have been able to do it... but that was when he'd still had Rose. A little bit of Bad Wolf remained in her, an echo of the heart of the TARDIS... But Rose was gone. And losing the lady who had been his one true port in a storm for centuries... was unthinkable.

Then he remembered the man still in his grip. He gazed down at the Torchwood agent, sick that he had to _touch_ someone like him in the first place... He pulled Jones all the way back onto the car and pinned him to the roof easily—the bastard was too shaken from his close brush with death.

Doctor or not, the Time Lord would not have hesitated to simply let go had the TARDIS burned in the explosion meant for her.

"What in blazes are you all doing up there?!" one crewman shouted. "What happened?!"

The Doctor kept a firm grip on Jones and craned his neck over the edge. The men on the ground looked none too happy... "Ah, hello, sorry about that! Detective Inspector Smith, Scotland Yard. Been chasing a couple of anarchists all the way from, well, Scotland, matter of fact! Attempted murder, you see," he finished grimly.

The second crewman swore under his breath and turned to his younger coworker. "Go get Martin, tell him to bring the irons." He looked back up. "Are you gents all right?"

"Oh, we're fine now." The Doctor smiled wearily—from the bottom of his hearts... "We're all fine."

The two agents were clapped in irons and hauled away to the guard van, both looking distinctly sullen. The train backed up to the end car, where George waited patiently outside. The car was recoupled, and, of course, the crew were curious as to why it was uncoupled in the first place. They opened the door... and found it empty.

The TARDIS was gone.

The Doctor stared at the empty space for several seconds, then realised. Little Nikola Tesla, quite possibly one of the most powerful human psychics in history now... linked to a time machine who spoke through the mind... He must have piloted the TARDIS out of the car. "Sorry, boys," the Doctor said slowly. "They must have been after Mr. Westinghouse here..." Aware that he wasn't a very good liar in this lifetime, he glanced at Holmes for help.

Holmes flicked his own gaze over to the car they'd been on, then said smoothly, "And his equipment, too, sir, I shouldn't wonder. A brilliant ploy, Mr. Westinghouse," he said admiringly, "using an empty car as a decoy."

Thankfully, George caught right on. "Yes, but if it hadn't been for you and your men, Inspector—and this fine crew, of course—" he beamed in a fatherly fashion at said crew—"those scoundrels might have gotten away scot-free. I'm very grateful to all of you."

The crew beamed in return. "Not at all, Mr. Westinghouse," said the oldest crewman. "Glad we could help."

George looked deeply apologetic as he turned to the Doctor. "Now, Inspector, I'm so sorry, I've got one more favour to ask you. Would you and your men be so good as to ride along with me in that car? After all this commotion, I just won't feel easy leaving all that valuable equipment by itself a second time."

A grin crept along the Doctor's face—he really, _really_ liked George Westinghouse... "Sir, it would be our pleasure."

The senior crewman tossed off a jaunty salute and headed back towards the engine. "Right, boys, let's get the old girl on her way again!"

* * *

With the train underway once more, the Doctor moved towards the TARDIS, then paused, frowning down at the power cell. "Hang on, the old girl won't let us in with that. Anybody got any – _oh_! Oh, wait, _I_ do!" He grabbed the cell right out of a startled George's hands and dashed over to the machine. "I think Nikola Tesla's spent quite long enough in his second childhood!"

George stared, deeply alarmed. "You're going to try turning him back with _that_?! Think again, Doctor, this machine's caused enough trouble already!" Proper instruments or not, that energy seemed to be little more than pure chaos – there was simply no telling what it might do to his friend a second time!

The Doctor was already slotting the power cell in place. "Oh, George Westinghouse, just you watch me. I've seen enough men ruin their lives, and I am _not_ letting Nikola Tesla be one of them, you got that? The Doctor is in!"

Watson's eyes were wide. "But how? How can you be sure it will work?"

"Oh, now that's easy!" The Doctor was at full gallop, tinkering madly with a strange handheld device with a blue light at one end. "Just reverse the polarity of the neutron flow here... Ahhh, there we go!" He jerked his head up, grinning manically. "Still haven't lost m'touch!"

George glared sternly, not backing down for a moment. "And what about Nikola, Doctor – doesn't he have a say in this? You haven't even asked him whether he wants to be turned back!" Whatever mistakes Nikola had made, that didn't give _this_ Doctor the right to play God with people's lives, any more than the rest of his profession.

He was grimly pleased to see the Doctor stop short, the grin freezing on his face, breathing hard. After a few seconds: "O-of course! 'Course I'm going to ask him. I just... 'course I'm going to ask him." Although it was clear to everyone else in the car that the Doctor had had no such intention.

George's expression softened, taking pity on the Doctor's obvious anxiety – understandable, really, given his first experience with Nikola's newly-acquired abilities. "He's doing a lot better now, Doctor – he was using actual speech before to tell me about the bomb." He gestured invitingly at the TARDIS door, smiling kindly. "Go on."

The Doctor nodded and took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, then opened the door and stepped inside.

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:** I probably shouldn't have enjoyed writing that last scene as much as I did – but sometimes even the Doctor needs reminding where his jurisdiction begins and ends, and it is _so_ very satisfying when a human gets to give him that reminder!

**Author's note from Sky:** For me, it was just an exciting moment to discover that Nikola had piloted the TARDIS! Feels like there ought to be fanart for it... (What? No, that wasn't a hint! Really...) Anywho, stay tuned, 'cos there's still quite a bit left to deal with!


	5. A Brave Boy

**==Chapter 5: A Brave Boy==**

_"In one aspect, yes, I believe in ghosts, but we create them. We haunt ourselves."_

—Laurie Halse Anderson, Wintergirls

The Doctor opened the door and peered inside. "Hello, Nikola," he said softly. "How are you doing?"

The boy was serenely sitting cross-legged in the jump seat, still drowned in his adult clothes but barefoot, with his sleeves and trouser legs rolled shorter. As the Doctor entered, Nikola gave him the beatific smile of a delighted little boy. "We flew, Doctor!" he said proudly. "We _flew!_" He turned his head and grinned companionably up at the central column. The TARDIS chirped back.

The Doctor laughed in relief—the happy kid before him was a far cry from the scared child he'd been a scant hour earlier. "Yes, you did! And you were magnificent." He reached the jump seat and knelt to be at an eye-level with Nikola. "Thank you," he murmured, smiling. "From the bottom of my hearts, thank you."

Nikola shrugged, smiling modestly. "She told me. I told George. Just a voice."

"But she couldn't have done it without you," the Doctor said solemnly. "The TARDIS is incredible, but even she has her limits. She needs someone to be able to listen."

The boy's smile faded. "Didn't listen before..."

"Ohhh, hey," the Time Lord said gently. He reached for the boy's face, then stopped, remembering. "Shh. It all worked out, still, all the way to your machine..." He paused, feeling oddly apprehensive. George _was_ right: Nikola needed to decide for himself. But history also needed Nikola's decision to be affirmative... "Nikola? Would you like to change back? Back to an adult?"

Worry wrinkled the small face. "Hurt again?"

The Doctor closed his eyes—it hurt, having to do this to a child, whether or not he'd been an adult a few hours earlier. He met the boy's gaze frankly. "I don't know, Nikola. It probably would hurt, but I don't know." He sighed. "You could grow back up naturally again, but it would take a long time. Eleven years before you'd even be considered an adult by the state. Do you really want that?"

Nikola pursed his lips, brow furrowed for half a minute. Then he sighed, too. "Slow... fast... still hurts." He looked back up, smiling sadly, eyes a little distant. "George missing me," he said softly. "Not fair."

The Doctor smiled sadly back. "I know," he said just as softly. He dared to touch Nikola's shoulder and found that the TARDIS was now blanketing things between them. He thanked her silently. "I know..."

The small face took on a resolute expression, coupled with a firm nod. "Going back."

The Doctor smiled proudly. "Good man." He let go of the shoulder and rose to his feet.

Nikola didn't stir except to shake his head gently. "Not yet. Still listening."

The Doctor stopped, smile freezing again. "Listening to what?" But he already had a good idea...

The answer was soft. "You, Doctor. I hear you..." The dark gaze swept the control room. "Every you." The gaze turned upward, full of compassion. "All... so sad..."

He'd known who he would be from childhood. Even before the Time War, his past selves had been mourning his future...

He lowered himself to the floor again, realising that the breath was knocked out of him, and folded his legs under him. "Well," he managed after a few seconds, "occupational hazard, I suppose..." He turned his gaze down, then away, avoiding Nikola's eyes for fear of breaking down.

Nikola slid off the seat and settled on the floor beside the Doctor, leaning against him, resting his head on the Time Lord's shoulder. The Doctor's breath caught, and he looked down at Nikola in wonder, starting to cry almost silently. The child put his small arms around the Time Lord, hugging him. The Doctor froze for a moment, then hugged Nikola back tightly, chest aching sharply.

The last time he'd held a little boy like this, it had been his son.

"Doctor lonely," Nikola murmured, gently but firmly, "but not alone. Family here."

The Doctor blinked back tears and shook his head. "Yeah, but not for long. Never for long." He pulled back enough to look Nikola in the eye and pushed the dark hair away from the pale face. "It's like I tried to tell you earlier—I've lived a very long time. And, sometimes, I get very, very tired. Tired of... struggling... of losing everyone that matters to me..." He was starting to choke on his words, falling apart. "Of watching everyone die. Even with the TARDIS around... in the end... I'm always alone."

The child listened solemnly, took the Doctor's hand, smiled encouragingly. "Not today."

The Doctor tried to smile back... but could only think of losing Rose in the recent past... and losing Sherlock and John in the near future. He bowed his head, whispering thickly, "That's what I tell myself... every day... but I can't do it... all the time..."

Nikola rose to his knees and wrapped his arms around the Doctor's shoulders, head resting against his. "Don't have to," he whispered.

The Doctor's breath hitched, and he closed his eyes. "I'm scared," he whispered. The Daleks had called him the Oncoming Storm because they had feared him... and look at him now...

Nikola tightened his hold... and after a moment, began to hum a lullaby.

The Doctor took a shuddering breath and allowed the sweet little voice to soothe him, feeling rather as he had when he'd had quite a similar conversation with Holmes in the midst of the Himalayas... He calmed and waited for Nikola to finish, then looked up to meet the child's eyes. "Thank you," he breathed.

Nikola smiled gratefully back and stood as the Doctor did. There was a gleam in his eyes but worry lines in his forehead as he slipped his tiny hand into the Doctor's.

The Time Lord smiled reassuringly. "Hey," he murmured, and squeezed the hand gently. Nikola squeezed back. "It'll be okay. You're a brave cookie—" a giggle escaped Nikola at that—"and you're brilliant. You'll be fine."

The little body relaxed as they walked down the ramp. Nikola turned at the door and waved at the central column—the TARDIS twittered encouragingly back. The Doctor nodded at her and opened the door, stepping out.

Nikola released the Doctor's hand and ran up to George, throwing his arms around the man's waist and beaming up at him. "You did it, George!"

George smiled proudly down at the boy and ruffled his hair. "_You_ did it, son—you and the lady." He turned to the Doctor. "Is everything all right?"

The Doctor nodded. "I think so, yeah." Then he murmured, "Nikola?" and nodded at the machine.

The boy hesitated a moment, anxiety seeping back into his pale features. George placed a comforting hand on the tiny shoulder. "Nikola… it's up to you, son, all right? Whatever you choose…"

Nikola nodded, smiling bravely. "I know. Fast or slow, still got you."

George blinked, his own smile turning misty. "That's right."

Breathing a sigh of relief and more than a little touched himself, the Doctor moved over to the machine to warm it up.

"Time to go back, George," he heard Nikola say in a tone far older than his appearance. "Night is coming. Need the lights on."

The Doctor glanced back, wide-eyed, at the boy, having shivered at the seer-like words and tone. He quickly turned his attention back to the task at hand before he was caught staring, but the moment had alarmed him more than a little. He did glance briefly at his Companions, and caught an odd expression on Holmes's face... almost as if he wasn't sure whether to smile or cry...

Well, the machine was as ready now as it would ever be. In nine hundred-plus years of Time and Space, the Time Lord had truly never seen anything like it before, and he just had to trust to Nikola's genius.

The miniature genius in question turned towards his invention, squared his shoulders, and lifted his chin. The memories and intelligence of an adult in the mind of a child... and the courage of a lion. The Doctor was fiercely proud. Nikola climbed into the chamber, sat cross-legged, and took a deep breath. "Now, Doctor."

The Doctor paused. Already, he'd become very attached to the strange little boy—a sweet little kid who happened to be a genius... and a telepath to boot. He blinked for a long moment, then reached in and squeezed Nikola's knee. "Okay." He managed a devil-may-care grin, and the corners of Nikola's lips lifted. "_Allons-y_." The Time Lord closed the chamber, stopped, took a deep breath. Stepped away, feeling a too-familiar weight return to his shoulders, bowing him down... and he started the transformation sequence.

George stood tensed like a coiled spring, eyes wide, obviously restraining himself with effort from calling off the whole thing.

Blue lightning began to arc around the machine, sparks of static discharging off of everything and everyone, thunder pealing outside. There was a piercing squeal of locked brakes as the train screeched to a halt, throwing everyone off-balance...

And a high-pitched scream of pain began to deepen... the Doctor watching in horror and wanting nothing more than to stop it and get Nikola out and yet forcing himself to stay... George held back bodily by Holmes and Watson...

And then the scream cut off.

The Doctor rushed forward and yanked the door open. "Nikola!"

Nikola Tesla lay on his back on the floor of the chamber, unconscious... and fully-grown. His breathing was shallow, skin damp with sweat, face creased faintly with remembered pain.

George pushed past the Doctor, knelt, and gathered his friend into his arms, cradling his head. "Nikola? Nikola, can you hear me?" The inventor didn't stir. "Nikola! Come on, son, wake up—please!"

The Doctor knelt beside the two and raised a hand to Nikola's head, bracing himself. The TARDIS still blanketed them... and Nikola still possessed a high-level telepathic field. The Time Lord gently brushed against the human's psyche with the remembered warmth of their hug.

Nikola's mind flinched in surprise, his features echoing the reaction, then calmed, recognising the touch. _Doctor..._

The Doctor gave him the impression of a smile. _Hey. Are you all right?_

Nikola seemed to study himself, flexing mental muscles experimentally. _Well, it's all functioning correctly in here—_he frowned contemplatively—_although I do seem to have kept some abilities from the earlier refit..._ He hesitated. _Will that be a problem?_

The Doctor's smile turned reassuring even as, in the physical world, he sighed in profound relief. _No, no, it shouldn't be—not if you're careful. Telepathy can be a terrible responsibility, but it's also a privilege. I think you'll do just fine._

Nikola 'nodded'. _Would you tell George I'm all right?_ He smiled ruefully. _This body has taken a great deal of punishment__—i__t might take a while to reset._

The Doctor nodded back. _I'll do that. Would you like to rest in the TARDIS again? You'll heal quicker._

Nikola smiled affectionately at the TARDIS's visible aura surrounding them, a mother with her boys... _Please._ He sobered then. _The sooner I get back on my feet, the better—there's a lot to be done before..._ He hesitated a split second. _Before Thursday's test._

_Right, of course. You should be healed by then. 'Course, you'll be a couple of workers short, but maybe I can make up the difference._

Nikola grinned. _We would be honoured._

The Doctor returned to himself and smiled quietly up at Westinghouse. "He's going to be just fine. He needs to recuperate, that's all. You should get him back into the TARDIS—I'll just make sure his machine can't be used. Won't take long."

George let out a relieved breath, lifted Nikola fully and carried him into the TARDIS with Watson close behind.

Then the Doctor saw Holmes's ears _twitch_ like a hound's. "Hurry, Doctor—the Express crew are fast approaching and they do not sound happy!"

Oh, terrific. "Right, got it!" The Doctor moved quickly, tearing out a few parts that he knew couldn't be replicated, then ducked into the TARDIS. "All right, we are out of here!"

* * *

Watson left Nikola resting comfortably in the medbay under George's watchful eye, then rejoined Holmes and the Doctor in the control room. "Doctor, aren't we forgetting someone? What's going to happen to the Torchwood agents?"

The Doctor plopped down into the jumpseat, pulling up his legs and sitting Red Indian style. "I don't know, really. They'll probably get out of custody and return to Britain, report their mission as failed."

Holmes frowned, looking decidedly awkward. "Doctor... my brother Mycroft... I imagine he at least knows _of_ Torchwood, whether or not he approves of it." The detective spread his hands. "If it would help at all...?"

"Oh, Holmes, I don't know –" the Doctor sighed, "I really don't. I'm treading a very fine line here between my past and their future: for me, I've already been through my big showdown with Torchwood; for them, it's still over a century away." His face darkened. "They're the reason I lost Rose."

Watson closed his eyes for a moment, a dull ache in his chest. "And anything else you could have forgiven..." he murmured, gazing at the Doctor sadly.

"But not that..." The Doctor nodded slowly and rose to his feet. "Right now, I have to be careful about how I interact with Torchwood so that I don't alter anything. After Canary Wharf, though... I guess we'll see."

Holmes looked at the Time Lord gravely. "Which means we'd best take a little more care from now on where we park the TARDIS, if their agents are trained to see past her perception filter."

"Yeah, and that's the other thing that worries me. Torchwood was founded only... what, fifteen years ago? Those agents received psychic training that quickly?"

Holmes echoed the Doctor's frown. "Perhaps a better question, Doctor, is who are they receiving that training from? I'd be prepared to lay good odds that it's the same person who sent that forged message to the psychic paper."

"Right, but who could that possibly be? I've been to this stretch of history lots of times, and I can't think of anyone – anyone still around, anyway – who _could_ manage a long-distance telepathic message like that. Still less anyone who'd be working for or with Torchwood."

"And... forgive me, Doctor," Watson interjected hesitantly: "it would also have to be someone who knew enough about your former Companion to use her name as a lure."

The Doctor nodded contemplatively. "It's all right. I know." He sighed. "But if anyone can take of herself, it's Ace – I'm sure she's fine. She beat up a Dalek once with a baseball bat just for calling her 'small'." He smiled – a small, sadly fond smile.

Watson's own smile was warm, much taken by the description. "She sounds a most remarkable young woman, Doctor. We should have been honoured to meet her."

"Maybe someday you still can." The Doctor grinned in remembrance. "She was really something else, always carrying around explosives, even when I told her not to – came to rely on her for that. And she called me 'Professor'." He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Watson gazed at the Doctor in sympathy, the Time Lord's disappointment plain despite his best efforts. His human colleague wondered angrily who had been cruel enough to raise the Doctor's hopes like that and then dash them; hopefully, he would have the privilege of meeting _them_ one day as well.

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:** Sorry, folks, we know a lot of you were disappointed about Ace, too! You never know, though – she just might make an appearance later on...

**Author's note from Sky:** And the Doctor wasn't the only one sad to see little Nikola go! I think he was so precious... Of course, adult Nikola is just as amazing, telepath or not. Also... oooo, more mysteries to solve! Whom _does_ Torchwood have that is so powerfully psychic? As always, stay tuned!


	6. A Friend Sticketh Closer

**==Chapter Six: A Friend Sticketh Closer==**

"_George Westinghouse… was a pioneer of imposing stature, one of the world's true noblemen of whom America may well be proud, and to whom humanity owes an immense debt of gratitude."_

– Nikola Tesla

George took Nikola's hand in his as the physicist finally stirred, eyelids fluttering. "Nikola? Can you hear me?"

Nikola's eyes blinked open, slowly focusing on the face of his friend, hovering anxiously above him. "George..."

The weary inventor beamed from ear to ear. "Welcome back, son. How're you feeling?"

Nikola smiled back weakly. "Tired... sore..." smile fading, "and... very foolish..." He flushed deeply, expression troubled but determined. "George... I..."

"Forget it." Westinghouse shook his head gently. No explanations were needed – they never had been. "I'm just glad you're all right."

Nikola relaxed, eyes closing again. "The generator...?"

"Nearly finished, don't worry. The Doctor's been giving us a hand."

Nikola's smile returned. "...knew he would..."

"We weren't going to test it without you, though. This was your brainchild, you'll be throwing the switch –" The tilt of George's chin brooked no argument – "first thing tomorrow."

Watson poked his head into the medbay a moment later, mouth open to speak, but closing it again in short order, eyebrows raised in inquiry.

Nikola turned his head stiffly, smiling at the new arrival. "Doctor... I believe thanks are in order..." The smile turned remorseful: "and also an apology... My conduct towards all of you... on our first meeting... was inexcusable."

"But understandable." Watson sighed as he approached the bed, his reassuring smile fading. "Believe me, Nikola, I understand what you were after. I was a surgeon in the army, in one of the bloodiest wars Britain has experienced in recent history. I saw... seventeen-year-old boys cut down... men hacked to pieces. And then when I returned to London... I met Holmes. And when you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield in everyday life. All the pointless deaths..."

The doctor's jaw was set, staring down at the floor, voice low and full of pain. "I lost my wife and our child. I would do... just about anything... to get them back, if I could. To have prolonged their short lives." He closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath. "But the Doctor's right: accepting death _is_ part of being human... although struggling against it is every bit as human, also."

Nikola nodded silently, his own eyes downcast; George, on the other hand, gazed openly at Watson in sympathy and wonder. "And you travel every day in a time machine..." The inventor could only imagine what it must be like for the doctor to simply accept such shattering loss, especially since he constantly had the means to alter it at his very fingertips.

"You're a better man than I am, John Watson," he murmured, shaking his head solemnly. How long could he, George Westinghouse, have resisted such agonising temptation, if the lives of his beloved Marguerite and George Jr. had been in question?

Watson smiled sadly, also shaking his head. "The Doctor has explained what actions such as changing your own past can do... and Mary would not wish me to protect her by destroying reality." He straightened, and George was relieved to see the man's smile finally reaching his eyes. "I should get back and tell the Doctor that you've woken, Nikola. He'll be very pleased – it was Holmes' idea to come meet you, but the Doctor has been talking endlessly about your genius."

Nikola blushed a deep crimson. "Nothing compared to his..." His eyes grew distant again for a moment. "I was born during a thunderstorm, Doctor – did you know? The midwife said that I would be a child of the storm... but my mother told her no, that I would be a child of light. My entire life, I have been attempting to contribute to the welfare of my fellow man... Why could I not see that, with this latest effort, I would have achieved the very opposite?"

George opened his mouth to protest, but Watson responded first: "You wanted to have beaten Death. Nikola, every physician knows that desire... and for you, the means were actually within your reach." The doctor shook his head again gently, laying his hand on Nikola's shoulder. "No one blames you for it. The Doctor doesn't blame you for it. Don't bludgeon yourself for it."

Nikola gave him a small, grateful smile. "I'll do my best – and George won't allow me to wallow in self pity for long, anyhow."

"You've got that right," George grinned, sitting down on the bed beside his friend. "There's plenty more to do yet; if all goes well on the test, Edward Adams wants another nine of those generators up and running in the next two years."

Watson arched an impressed eyebrow. "Sounds as though you two will be busy men."

Nikola nodded ruefully. "We'll need to be."

* * *

The powerhouse was a hive of activity in those last few hours, during which time Holmes was quite content to stand back beside Watson and simply watch. Although Nikola Tesla wasn't rushing about with his usual frenetic energy, having been strongly counseled by both doctors to take things easy for another day or so, Holmes was still greatly enjoying seeing the physicist in his element. This truly had been a moment worth waiting for.

"Do you know, Watson," he mused, "before we came here, I had always been mystified as to how Tesla had managed to survive up till now in his chosen career. The man is a genius, certainly, but often lacking in self-restraint – as we have already witnessed! – and his is a profession where recklessness is usually rewarded by a flash of white light and a one-way ticket to the mortuary."

The detective looked over to where Nikola was working next to George Westinghouse. "The answer, however, has since become a great deal clearer." He glanced sideways at his friend, before continuing softly, "In fact, I would go so far as to say that it was staring me in the face the whole time..."

Watson's eyes widened, momentarily speechless – but only for a moment. "Well," he said quietly, "I'm quite certain Westinghouse could hardly do without Tesla, either."

Holmes' lips twitched slightly, eyes twinkling. "Heaven only knows why..."

* * *

Here at last was the moment they'd been working towards, the moment that the Doctor and his boys had originally come to see. The Niagara generator was about to go online.

"Doctor, we're ready!" George called to where the Doctor stood at the far end of the powerhouse. "Open the floodgate!"

"_Yessah!_" the Doctor shouted back, grinning in excitement. He threw down the switch, and the underground floodgate opened, lake water surging through the canal and turning the turbines of the generator, which began to hum and vibrate as the generated power built.

Nikola threw down the switch that allowed the electricity to flow along the overhead wires—which, just now, were attached only to a bank of electric lights. The test was a day early. The lights turned on and glowed brightly. George and Nikola cheered, and even Holmes laughed in delight, clapping Watson on the back.

The Doctor pumped his fist in the air with a loud whoop. Now this... _this_ was the kind of history he lived for. He jogged over to the others, gushing, "Oh, it's brilliant! I mean, just look at all this!"

George smiled widely. "We couldn't have done it without your help, Doctor. You three made all the difference. Are you sure you won't stay for the official test?"

"Oh, no, we should get going!" The Doctor grinned and motioned Holmes and Watson over. "Think we've done enough damage around here!"

Holmes smiled widely and extended a hand to Nikola. "Congratulations, Mr. Tesla. We wish you all the best for the future—" his tone turned earnest—"to which you have already contributed far more than you could ever imagine. For a man of your brilliance, a single lifetime is more than enough to make a difference."

Nikola smiled back, blushing. "Spoken like a true genius. Goodbye, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson." He extended his hand towards Watson. "I hope to see all of you again."

Watson shook the hand heartily, smile warm. "I would like that very much. I would caution you to take care of yourself, but I know that you won't... So the _best_ of luck to you, Nikola Tesla."

George chuckled, shaking hands with Watson in turn. "Don't worry, Watson, I'll make sure he doesn't kill himself!"

Watson grinned at him, the expression of someone who'd discovered a kindred spirit. "I know you will, sir. The best of luck to you both."

The Doctor turned to beam at Nikola. "Nikola, it's all been brilliant, really."

Nikola smiled back, extending his hand. "Doctor, thank you," he said in a heartfelt tone, which then turned grave. "If you hadn't been here..." He gave a shudder that, though invisible, the Doctor could feel in his hand. The Time Lord didn't doubt that the child had been able to pick up quite a bit from the Torchwood agents.

The Doctor shook Nikola's hand firmly, his own gaze solemn. "I was happy to help. And you saved my TARDIS—if you hadn't warned George about that device..." He blinked at the sudden moisture in his eyes, his voice turned hoarse. "I'd have lost her. So _thank you_. Thank you... very much."

"My pleasure, Doctor," Nikola said softly. He smiled in wonder. "You truly are fortunate to have such a remarkable lady."

The Doctor took a deep breath, nodded, and managed a smile. "I know. You take care—" he gently tapped Nikola's forehead—"of this now. It's a privilege... _and_ a responsibility."

"Yes..." The human's mind reached out and gently touched the Time Lord's. _We both have a duty, Doctor... Watch over each other... you and your Companions... for night will soon fall... and the lights must not go out..._

The Doctor shivered as he tried _not_ to remember the pain he'd felt, looking into the future. _How can you... how can you know that? I... I'm doing my best, I don't want to lose them..._

_I can feel it, Doctor... Winter's long, cold fingers on my heart... and if the vows made in Summer are forsaken... we shall not see another Spring..._

Terror pushed the Doctor's patience to the breaking point. _Stop it! Either tell me or stop! _Then he folded in on himself—he was tired of fighting. It came so easily these days, that weariness... _Oh, what's the point... I won't be able to stop it, I never... never have really been able... able to protect anyone I love... anyone at all..._

Nikola's telepathic voice rang with stern authority. _We watch over _each other_, Doctor – _that_ is the point. _The Doctor recoiled, taken aback. _You cannot stand alone, none of us can... Tempests must be weathered in company._ The human gave the impression of his expression softening and of putting his hand on the Doctor's shoulder. _Oh, my friend... you have been listening to your fears for so long... far too long..._

The Doctor relaxed at the mental touch and closed his eyes. _I can't stop,_ he said hopelessly. In the end, he never had any hope... Perhaps he _had_ been listening to his fears for too long, but he didn't know how to stop... _I _want_ to... and I can't..._

Nikola sighed and shook his head affectionately. _Your family has been trying to teach you how for centuries, Doctor... You still have a chance to learn..._ He withdrew gently then, and the Doctor's breath caught at the loss. "Goodbye, Doctor. Godspeed."

The Doctor took a shuddering breath. "Goodbye, Nikola. And... thank you." He turned slowly to his Companions, who were looking as though they'd been trying _not_ to stare at him and Nikola during their silent conversation.

Watson smiled. "Ready when you are, Doctor."

The Doctor nodded mutely and turned to George, managing a smile. "George... keep up the good work." He turned back to Holmes and Watson with a raise of his eyebrows. "All right, then, fellas." He took off at a jog for the TARDIS, and when he stopped, he turned and looked back. Nikola Tesla and George Westinghouse stood side by side in the doorway of the power station.

Holmes also looked back. "Doctor… will Nikola be all right? What I mean is... Torchwood gained its hold on him because of his desire to know that his life had not been wasted, that his efforts would count for something in the grand scheme of things…"

"'We have many a monument of past ages,'" the Doctor murmured, quoting, "'we have the palaces and pyramids, the temples of the Greek and the cathedrals of Christendom. In them is exemplified the power of men, the greatness of nations, the love of art and religious devotion. But the monument at Niagara has something of its own, more in accord with our present thoughts and tendencies. It is a monument worthy of our scientific age, a true monument of enlightenment and of peace. It signifies the subjugation of natural forces to the service of man, the discontinuance of barbarous methods, the relieving of millions from want and suffering.'"

Watson looked deeply moved. "Doctor, that… that's beautiful. Who said that?"

The Doctor grinned. "Nikola Tesla, two years from now."

The two humans shared a relieved grin.

"So, where to next, Doctor?" said Watson, his eyes twinkling. "Any bright ideas?"

"Wayeeeeell, as a matter of fact… there's something _else_ fun happening this very month in another part of the world. Paris, in fact." Holmes's face lit up, and he tilted his head in curiosity. But the Doctor merely wiggled his eyebrows enigmatically as he opened the TARDIS door and stepped inside.

Watson followed, chuckling. "Don't keep us in suspense, Doctor!"

The Doctor bounded over to the console and began flipping switches. "Well, in the twentieth century, the entertainment industry's a big deal, and nowhere bigger than in cinematography. We—" he looked up from his work, eyes alight—"are going to see the very first private screening for a motion picture. Sound good?"

Holmes's expression was greatly intrigued but cautious. "Actually, Doctor, I do recall reading about that—we're going to need a change of attire." Then he looked pointedly at the Doctor's suit and converses… he definitely lingered on the converses.

What was wrong with them? The Doctor went everywhere in those shoes—he loved those shoes. Besides which… "I don't know… whenever I do formal-wear, something bad happens."

Watson snorted, grinning. "No, that's just you." (Well, he liked that!) The human doctor took his Time Lord colleague by the elbow, propelling him towards the corridor. "Come on, wardrobe room! White tie and tails for this event—" then _he_ had the nerve to look the Doctor up and down critically—"although a top hat might be a bit much…"

"That could flatten my hair," the Doctor agreed reluctantly.

* * *

**Author's note from Ria:** That last bit between Watson and the Doctor always makes me smile – we did try very hard to keep the best lines from the original episode, especially the Doctor's words of wisdom to Professor Lazarus. At least Tesla survived his own genius... then again, we couldn't exactly kill him off, not least because he hasn't finished inventing yet!

**Author's note from Sky:** We definitely couldn't lose entirely the Doctor's lines to Lazarus—way too special to lose. And on a completely unrelated note, I just want to say that I adore so much the friendship between Tesla and Westinghouse...

We do have an epilogue coming, so stick around! And please, if you have the time, let us know what you think about the episode in its entirety! There are few things we enjoy more than a good review! (Mostly we gush over them together like kids with Christmas presents.)


	7. Epilogue: Consequences

**==Epilogue: Consequences==**

"_Why should we remain innocent of what lurks in the shadows? How can we live in the world if we don't understand how dark and brutal it can be?"_

—Penny Matthews

Peterson stood stiffly to attention beside Jones, the dark office illuminated only by the weak, watery reflection off the Thames. As usual, he could see little of the figure seated opposite behind the heavy oak desk—their employer's identity had remained cloaked in shadow from the commencement of these midnight reports.

"It won't do, you know," came the soft voice. "It won't do."

Peterson swallowed hard—the note of quiet menace was subtle but audible. "Sir, we had insufficient data on the Doctor's vessel. How were we to know the TARDIS was sentient?"

"You could simply have had the TARDIS _removed_, Peterson," the figure responded calmly, "which would have stranded the Doctor in this point in Time. Instead, you decided to confront him on grounds that were not your own, despite having studied every bit of the Doctor's past available to the institute. You were not to have given him the opportunity to out-think you."

"No, sir." Peterson's expression was wooden, but his eyes gleamed with resentment. "It won't happen again, I promise you."

"Indeed not." The faint creak of a chair was the only other sign of life. "You see, when one crosses swords with the Doctor, one seldom gets a second chance. But when they do... I should say that perhaps they do not always deserve it."

"Sir, I respectfully request one last opportunity to prove myself." They'd warned him, the others, he'd heard all the stories: _don't be expendable, not to Him_... "Our surveillance has revealed that they'll be in Paris on the 22nd."

"No... the timing is no longer right. I have only a few more months to wait until the Doctor will return his Companions to their proper time-stream." The distant tone softened a trifle, but did nothing to dispel the agent's unease. "Such a pity that you shall not be there when he does."

Peterson's eyes widened, realising far too late that he had been living on borrowed time ever since setting foot back on British soil. Before he could utter a word of protest, there was a shrill whine, the room lit up for an instant by a flash of green light...

* * *

Peterson stiffened, then collapsed to the ground, expression frozen in eternal protest.

The man who had ordered the shot did not care to hear protestations from an imbecile. Peterson had been entrusted with a crucially important task, and he had bungled it spectacularly from beginning to end.

Jones reholstered his modified alien weapon, his face itself expressionless but a faint contempt for his target in his eyes. "What about Tesla and Westinghouse, sir—should we continue surveillance?"

The man behind the desk leant back in his chair, steepling his fingers in contemplation. "For the time being, yes. Tesla's newly-acquired psychic abilities are an unforeseen consequence and must be monitored—but quietly. The pair _are_, after all, in the business of improving mankind's own technology without any extraterrestrial interference, and they should be allowed to continue."

He possessed an acute understanding of the importance of maintaining the balance of things. One did not remove two such powerful assets to mankind's wellbeing unless one truly had no other options.

"Perhaps, sir," said Jones, "that partnership could itself be a valuable tool in the future: provide whatever motivation Tesla might need to rebuild his machine." _Jones_ should have been leading the mission. But even the Torchwood Institute had to play politics, and Peterson had been better connected. Still... Jones's keen mind and ruthlessness were exactly what the Institute needed more in its agents.

The man behind the desk smiled slowly—there was a certain symmetry to the idea... "Quite possibly... Thank you, Jones—you are dismissed."

"Sir." The agent saluted smartly, turned, and left without so much as a glance at Peterson's corpse.

The lone living occupant of the room passed a hand over the reports for the mission. Quite suddenly, the hand crumpled Peterson's report. Twenty-five years, and at last so close... only to miss to the colossal stupidity of a man who had no right to be in the field in the first place. Eight months never seemed so interminable...

**To Be Continued...**

**in Episode 6: Child of Time**

* * *

**Author's note from Sky:** Well, as you can see, this is hardly an ending—the fun is only just beginning! Who is our mystery man, and what is his agenda? Keep with the series to find out!

Next up, we have a rather bizarre TARDISode and an exciting adventure following that! Stay tuned!


End file.
